Heat

 By Maryanna Gabriel

This is the view from my deck. Lucky me. It is supposed to be the cool time at dawn. Normally it is temperate. Normally. 

Already, I have managed a few forays with watering and laundry and already I need to yield. The air is like soup, and not the thin kind. It feels as though I am inside a plastic bag. No air. Half of western North America is suffering with this record breaking dome of heat. One of my science fiction novels about the future seems to be coming true. I cannot imagine trying to wait in a ferry line up right now let alone negotiate travel of any kind. 

 It is the still point around which the day revolves.